“On the contrary, the hand is the only part that pains me to lose.”
“Not the perfect hourglass figure or the heart-shaped face?”
“Indeed no, for you wear this sober visage much more fittingly. “The hand, however, set you off most magnificently, and I shall think long on whether to restore it to you.”
“I rather think that should be my decision.”
He made a moue that was almost a pout, but inclined his head in agreement. “If you say so. Though you did dedicate your flesh to me in our wedding vows.”
“I imagined you using it differently.”
That pleased him. He smiled broadly. “And you shall tell me of all these imaginings. Later.”
And then he leaned against a post of the bed, clearly intent on watching me as I dressed.
I did not think it was possible for my face to grow hotter. I was wrong. But I swept up the offerings of the mirror and dressed with my chin held high, bold as you please. I had nothing to be ashamed of and I refused to hide girlishly from the only gaze I sought.
Fortunately, the ban on underthings did not seem to extend to me. I dressed in a filmy silk shift first — real silk, not spiderweb, though I supposed there was little difference — and then carefully fitted on the dress offered by the mirror.
It was backless, of course.
“I left the scars. I hope you don’t mind,” Bluebeard said quietly, referring to my back with a gesture. I paused.
“Youleft the scars?” I felt a little breathless at that admission.
“When I brought you back from the lands of death and restored you to your place in time. I gave you back the hand, and healed your wounds, but I left the scars. They are dear to me. You took them for my sake.”
“Very sensible,” I said, though it was not at all sensible. It was sentimental and something about it made my heart burn so hard that I wanted to ignite his, too.
The dress was fitted around the bodice and boned for shape and support, with soft draping white fabric emphasizing the faint curve of my breast. No one would notice the top of the dress, for the skirt was in a style where the ivory outer skirt swept up to show a layer of filmy petticoats underneath, but from the arch of the brocade outskirt hung a great plentitude of swords and knives and daggers of sizes as long as my femur, to as small as my littlest finger hanging down from silver and gold chains decorated with thick brambles. They ought to have been ridiculously heavy and yet by dint of magic — most likely — were no heavier than brocade. And rather than the clatter they ought to produce when I moved, they made a sound like faint wind chimes and swirled gracefully with my every movement. They were woven in and out with more silver and gold chains all fitted to drape from a woven belt of brambles as wide as my hand that clasped around my waist.
“This is rather much,” I said calmly as I beheld myself in the glass but I did not think my husband agreed for his face was lit with pride. He bit his bottom lip as if he were holding back a laugh or perhaps a snarl, and he moved to stand behind me and look in the mirror at the pair of us.
I shivered under his scrutiny and then barely kept myself from melting when his head tilted, and he put his hands in my hair. With a look of concentration, he teased and tangled it until it looked as wild as he was, and only when I appeared as if I were a warrior queen out of a Wittentale, did he finally stop.
“Perfect,” he declared with a smile. “My fearsome bride, ready to work her will across the face of the earth.”
I did not think it suited me any more than all these impractical Wittenhame creations did, but I did look more fit for a Wittenhame court than I did in my threadbare wool dress, so I smiled my agreement.
“And now,” Bluebeard said, turning to the bed. “We deal with something long overdue.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
I swallowed nervouslybut found myself blinking when he said, “Sparrow. She who was faithful until the end is owed what she was promised.”
And before I could say one word or another, he picked up the ring from the bed and I realized it was a small silver one in the shape of a Sparrow.
“She bid me hide her token here and it is well I did,” he told me, smiling as if sharing a secret with me, but I did not know what he meant by that until he led me out of the room and down the steps and back out to the pavilion. I was nearly out of breath when we reached the spot overlooking the river and misted by the waterfall but his boyish grin told me he was about to do something amazing. “Ready?”
I nodded, though I did not know what I was agreeing to.
And then he lifted a hand, easily, as if he was waving to a friend, and there was a ripple in the water. Then out of the river, good as new, Sparrow walked out, dripping wet. She was perfectly whole, no longer a severed head and missing body, and the smile she gave my husband made me feel both nervous and jealous. After all, had she not died with me unable to prevent it — twice? Would she bring a complaint to my husband?
“My captain,” Bluebeard said smiling with a powerful pride as he looked at her. Unlike her master, she had the decency to exit the river fully clothed. “Come to your due.”
And she was smiling, too, as she walked up to the pavilion, mounted the steps, and then knelt gracefully to him as he offered her the ring.
“I give back to you both your ring and your life, dedicated in my service and lost for a time. My gratitude you had already, my respect you have now earned.”
